Frustration
by pol
Summary: Margaret has a serious bark, Hawkeye acknowledges his defeat and a rhythm is established. HM...sort of.


Title: Frustration

Author: Pol

Rating: Completely harmless. So harmless, you'll probably be left thinking "huh?"

A/N: This is the first MASH fic I've ever posted, so I'm incredibly nervous about it. I have loads more rotting away on my computer and I would love to get them read some day. So please tell me what you think. I'm HM all the way and my other stuff is more overtly so. This is more along the lines of a precursor. Ooh. It also may be slightly AU, seeing as I've created my own "first day" experience for Hawkeye. Put your guns away, please.

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Hawkeye didn't fall in love with faces or bodies. That was what lust was for and that was what medicine did to you. That was probably the problem.

He was a good sport about his apathy, most of the time. He knew how to play and the nurses liked it…nurses _always_ liked it, in his experience, and he had always taken full advantage of his experiences.

After a while they had all grown sort of the same to him, which made it easier. In one uniform or another, nurse or army, they melded together into the conglomerate face of a girl out for a good time, anxious to relieve the horrors of her occupation.

He was good with medicine, with treatments. It worked for him too, after all.

Still sometimes someone slipped by him and it was always with some measure of shock that Hawkeye Pierce realized he'd been defeated. It didn't happen often in an operating room and happened even less outside of one. But he had heard her voice first.

It wasn't a gentle, lullaby of a voice. It wasn't melodic or especially feminine. It wasn't even sultry or seductive or warm or caressing.

She sort of _barked _at him.

"Would you get _out_ of the way before someone gets killed!" She'd snapped.

He had sidestepped first as a cot rushed past him and by the time he'd turned the voice and its owner had been whisked away.

It was not the type of voice to remain hidden long, however. He heard it again, very distinctly, yelling out orders and then, a few moments later, rising to a screech as someone pissed it off.

It took a few minutes for Hawkeye to realize, that first day, that it belonged to a woman at all.

"Need a hand?" He'd asked, once he'd orientated himself.

The woman looked up at him. At least he thought she did, as he relived the moment later. He was pretty sure he'd caught her eyes because he could remember quite particularly the look of sheer frustration in them.

The colour, the size, the face they belonged to, all came later. That first day Hawkeye saw frustration. At him and his interruptions. At her nursing staff. At the wounded. At the war. Here was a woman with a sizeable chip on her shoulder.

And a serious bark.

"Who are you?" She'd demanded in the instant that he gauged her frustration.

He'd told her, quickly. There was no time for levity, no time for any of the standard introductory jokes. Although she could have used one.

She'd nodded brusquely and sent him in to a tent that had looked on first inspection the same as all the other tents.

Later, he'd stopped seeing the tent itself. The idea of the OR became one of body upon body, of stiff necks and shaking fingers, of blood. Lots of it, or not enough of it. Either way, the idea of blood stuck.

About fifteen minutes later everyone had been triaged and the crisp click of heels led the way for the barking voice into OR.

"_Watch _yourself, nurse!" She'd warned one of the pretty young things fumbling for a sponge and dropping it.

"Sorry, Major."

She had scrubbed up and made her way through the bodies, the boys, the blood, and caught the pale face of one of the new charges.

"Nurse Abraham. Feeling all right?"

Hawkeye looked up briefly. _His _nurse. She looked about ready to pass out. He remembered the greenish-whitish tinge of her face later. And the wisps of gold curls that had escaped the elastic of her surgical mask.

"Y-yes, Major," the girl gasped, as Hawkeye held out his hand.

"Clamp."

"Get out of here," the major said sternly, actually pushing the girl to the side.

"Clamp," she said a split second later, handing over the implement. It was amazing timing. Rhythmic. He would never forget that first impression.

She did spare a moment for the retreating Nurse Abraham, but it was only a brief moment.

"Wash your face, Abraham, and lie down for a bit. You'll be all right."

"Y-yes, Major. Thank you."

The girl made it out the door and Hawkeye was almost certain that he never saw her again. He wondered later if the girl had asked for re-assignment or if Margaret had had her shipped off somewhere. At least she wasn't nasty about it.

In the next pause in their procedure, she'd graced him with a quick glance.

"Margaret Houlihan, Doctor. Sorry to throw you into the fire like this."

"Better than the frying pan I was in before," he joked, giving her a wink.

She had smiled.

He was pretty sure later that she had smiled. It was to be a one-off occurrence for quite some time.

The kid had lived, he was definite about that. Margaret hadn't spared a smile for that. She had taken a quick breath, murmured "good work, Doctor" as she re-gloved him, and yelled rather hoarsely "NEXT!"

There had been many nexts that evening, that night and into the following morning, but she had stayed by his side the whole time. Their rhythm was amazing. It was then, and it still was.

But after all that, Hawkeye honestly couldn't have said he knew what she looked like.

If he had told BJ this particular little gem, he would have been told that he was not as shallow as he liked to pretend. Sidney would have said something along the lines of sensory overload; too many new and overpowering experiences in the one night. Trapper would have called him a liar, or possibly homosexual.

Margaret herself, Hawkeye thought, would probably have at least made out that she was offended. Once upon a time she probably _would _have been offended. She'd worked hard on her image, which was why it took years of work to shake off.

Deep down, though, Hawkeye knew perfectly well that none of those explanations had anything to do with it.

Hawkeye didn't fall in love with faces or bodies.

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A/N2: That's all folks. For now anyway. I could maybe delve into the world of sequels, should you wish. Either way, please please please tell me what you think. Please.


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